


A Cure for a Different Kind of Pestilence

by LowkeyLeviathan



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: (is it breeding if it's with a corpse?), Breeding, Corpse Desecration, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Degradation, Distension, F/M, Necrophilia, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stomach Bulge, Teratophilia, corpses can't consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowkeyLeviathan/pseuds/LowkeyLeviathan
Summary: During a breach, SCP-049 cures a female D-class of the Pestilence and cures himself of built-up desires.
Kudos: 51





	A Cure for a Different Kind of Pestilence

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags. This story is literally about exactly what it says. Contains death, actual necrophilia, teratophilia, non-con (corpses can't consent), "breeding" (creampie), mild distension/abdominal bulge caused by large insertion, some degradation/name calling ... Should be it. Read at your own discretion.

The barely-audible klaxon was the first sign that things outside of his sterile chamber were proceeding in a less than _perfect_ manner. This was not the first such time that he had heard the noise, inferred that other beings kept by the Foundation might be less amicable than himself. It _was_ , however, the first time that such an event also resulted in the soft pneumatic hiss of his chamber door opening. For a moment the doctor though to remain seated on the edge of his bed. If he left containment, there was the likelihood he could find new subjects for study, and he did dearly wish to continue his work. The Foundation had reacted in such a ridiculous manner to Dr. Hamm's unfortunate demise, to punish him by depriving him of new subjects. Their ignorance was nothing new, of course, he had encountered such ignorance many times in his long life.

But the tantrums of the ignorant were not quite so cause enough for him to breed more bad faith with his captors. No, it was the _itch_ , the very faintest tremors of the damned Pestilence upon the edge of his awareness that prompted him to stand, to take advantage of the opened door. The hallway outside was deserted, the emergency lights flickering half-heartedly. The klaxon was much louder now, though it was his own heartbeat rushing in his ears that the doctor heard. He was guided by nothing less than a divine purpose as he strode forward, bag clutched in his hands, pale eyes fixated upon a point ahead that only he could sense. 

Only he could _purge._

Even the distant sounds of roaring and inhuman screams did not prompt hesitation or distraction. Whether it was that vile beast he had heard the doctors of the Foundation refer to, or one of the dozens of other monsters and oddities that they kept here hardly mattered. What truly mattered, what had _always_ mattered was the doctor's work. 

The draw of the Pestilence's stink lead him to a public watercloset. Though there were three stalls, each with the door closed and with no feet visible beneath, the doctor unerringly moved to the last in the line. The initial push of the door revealed it was locked; a kick from his heavy boot took care of _that_. The shriek from its occupant – a woman, dressed in the orange jumpsuit of the so-called "D-class" subjects – did not deter the doctor whatsoever. "Do not be afraid," he reassured the woman as she screamed and scrabbled back against an unforgiving wall. "I will cure you of your disease." 

Her inane blubbering was silenced as his gloved fingers brushed against her throat, leaving her slumped over the back of the toilet. Breathing a near-silent sigh of relief, the doctor easily lifted the woman's remains from the toilet, bringing it instead to lay upon the floor in the middle of the room. It was not an ideal setting for his work, but he had dealt with far worse over the centuries. He would make quick work of _fully_ curing this young woman, and make good use of the knowledge gained from this work. That was the matter fully on his mind as he drew a pair of shears from his bag and began stripping her of the orange jumpsuit she wore. 

The good doctor had the best of intentions, but almost against his own will he found himself pausing once the jumpsuit was cleared away from her chest. He hadn't noticed when she was still afflicted with the worst of the Pestilence, but she was quite buxom. Whether it was intentional or not, the subjects supplied to him by the Foundation so far had only been male. The doctor would have preferred a wide variety of specimens to further his research, but given his status as a captive, he had been willing to work with what he was given. It had not occurred to him how much he would miss the sight of smooth flesh, the way a breast filled one's hand, the comforting feeling of skin upon his own... 

Taking a deep breath, 049 reapplied himself to the work of stripping the woman. He thought that perhaps if he went through the motions of professionalism, true professionalism would return. Instead he found himself still enthralled, still _hungry_ in a manner he hadn't felt in decades. "The work," he muttered to himself, staring down at the woman's body, "The work must continue." _And it shall,_ he promised to himself, mind suddenly made up for him by another head entirely. _It shall, as soon as I rid myself of this distraction._

The doctor suddenly moved with a hurried then, mindlessly pulling at his coat with one hand while the other groped at the woman's glorious teats. He was gentle at first, almost as though afraid of hurting her – but as his passion mounted, his concern for her lessened. He abandoned her tits to pull her heavy legs up and to the side, baring her entirely to him. A trembling finger ran up the length of her slit, reveling in the warmth still to be found there. He spared a moment's consideration for the odd length of her pubic hair; it was less a bush and more a trimmed hedge, albeit obviously neglected recently. Done on purpose, the clinical portion of his mind had to wonder, as part of the Foundation's bizarre tests? It was worth further consideration, but _later_. Now it was far more compelling to slip a finger between her folds, an action that drew a guttural groan from the doctor. With the woman in the state she was in, there was no need to waste much time preparing her – this was fully for his own enjoyment. 

There were greater joys to be found however, and he was quick to remove his fingers to replace them with the head of his grayish shaft. Slowly he worked his length forward and back until he was fully seated within the woman, a feat in and of itself considering the size of his rod. As deeply as he was seated, the head of it caused the flat plane of her stomach to tent slightly, a sight that caused the good doctor to shudder with pleasure. At first his intention was to merely get this over with, to rid himself of the desires that kept him from completing his work. But now, sheathed in her warmth, he found himself far more inclined to savor this. Pausing, waiting for the risk of climax to pass, his hands once again found her breasts, fondling them, pulling at her nipples, bemoaning the risk of infection that made it impossible to remove his mask to taste of them. 

His hips began to work then, dragging his length out entirely only to once again push himself in to the hilt, his breathing ragged as the sensations of it washed over him. He repeated the motion a few more times, eyes rolling with the pleasure of it. Soon though his self-control began to wear away, and his grip shifted to the woman's hips to facilitate fucking her harder. The distant sound of warning klaxons was joined by the rhythmic slapping of his coating meeting her ass, his heavy breathing, and the groans he issued through it all. As passions mounted, he began speaking to the corpse, voice low, hoarse, far more harsh than normal and lacking any of the exacting manners with which he had addressed his captors the entire length of his stay with the Foundation. 

"I know you're enjoying this," the doctor hissed, grabbing a fistful of the woman's curly hair and dragging her head back, groaning deeply at the sight of her long, smooth neck, the way her half-lidded eyes stared sightlessly upwards. His other hand gripped at her throat, tightly enough to bruise and stop her breath, if she had been still capable of either. "Stupid whore, too stupid to even know you're sick." Tighter still he squeezed her throat, jackhammering his cock into her cunt. "You're just a slut, only good for fucking. Take it, you bitch." With a final loud groan, feeling cartilage collapse as he squeezed her throat with all of his strength, the doctor came into the woman. His thrusting slowed to a shuddering, staggering halt, and he fell lip over her while he gasped for breath. When he found the strength to lift himself, he pushed the hair back out of her face gently, drew back and reached into his bag while his softening cock remained inside of her. 

Quickly he found what he was looking for, drawing a rubber plug out. Quickly, so not as to allow any of his seed to spill from her snatch, he pulled his cock out and jammed the plug in its place. Humming his contendedness, he used the rags of her jumpsuit to clean himself up before turning his attention back to the woman. "Thank you, my dear, I desperately needed that. Now, let's see about finishing my work, hmm?" The doctor was in a very good mood as he drew forth the rest of his tools from his bag and began the work of administering his cure to the woman. Once she was fully cured, perhaps he could see just what else the little slut could do.


End file.
